


Surprises

by gerardwaymustdle



Category: Suicide Squad (2016)
Genre: Dancing, F/M, Happy Ending, harley is a ballerina, he likes surprising harley, surprises don't always end up how they should, the joker is kind of a dick, the joker says some nasty shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-08-17 05:35:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8132326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gerardwaymustdle/pseuds/gerardwaymustdle
Summary: Her face was plain, without its usual strike of brightly coloured makeup, her brow furrowed in concentration as she tried to do the steps she’d been taught ten mere minutes ago; her lips were bitten red, eyelashes fluttering on her cheeks as she watched her feet moving in those red satin pointe shoes that the Joker had bought her for her nineteenth birthday.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Characters stolen from Suicide Squad but nothing relates to the actual film. This is an AU I've been messing around with for a while - what if there was a ballet school in Gotham City, and what if Harley was made prima and had to act in love with another man? 
> 
> (Disclaimer - I know nothing about ballet, so this is probably all wrong!)

Her hair was tied back in her working ponytail, curls half fallen out, stray hairs brushing her body from her forehead to her waist. Her skin was porcelain, though last night’s bruises still littered her neck and collarbones, the marks a whole spectrum from the palest pastel yellow to a dark purple, marks of teeth and marks of fingers wrapped around a pale throat. Her face was plain, without its usual strike of brightly coloured makeup, her brow furrowed in concentration as she tried to do the steps she’d been taught ten mere minutes ago; her lips were bitten red, eyelashes fluttering on her cheeks as she watched her feet moving in those red satin pointe shoes that the Joker had bought her for her nineteenth birthday. She was breathing hard, heavy, fast - she had been dancing this routine for four hours, every step quick and difficult, the school’s decision to promote her to prima maybe having come almost a little early in Harley’s eyes. She had stripped down to just a bra and her leggings two hours ago, before the windows had steamed up and the fan had broken, before both and her dance partner had begun to smell the wrong side of something more acidic than sweat, the smell of the dirt in Gotham mixed with the saccharine sweetness of the ballet studios that most people still didn’t know existed.

Maybe she was young - just the innocent side of twenty, younger than any prima ballerina that had come before her - but her body possessed a grace that was rarely seen, a talent for interpreting the music with an understanding, as if she felt the notes instead of hearing them. She was different to the others, she was beautiful, and a little crazy - she said the things that they wouldn’t dare, she did the moves that they scorned as too easy, but then added something to them, reinvented, reimagined - she made them jealous. Harley Quinn was as quick in mind as on feet, and couldn’t live with just learning the set moves of the routine from a choreographer - she always had to do more, a jump here, a kick there, convincing her partner to dip her down and kiss her during the routine.

But maybe that last one had been a mistake. Truthfully, Harley had known how it was going to end the second she opened her mouth: tears, blood and rage. She knew how deathly protective the Joker was of her, and of her mouth especially, but she couldn’t help it. It just fit  _ so well _ in the routine, was what she’d tell him, that it meant nothing, they were just playing Romeo and Juliet and it was the only way to truly express the bond between them to the actors and lords that had come to watch the show that night.

She barely made it to the show. The thing with the Joker was, he liked surprises. And he liked surprising her. Most times, it was perfectly harmless: a diamond ring in the bottom of a martini; a languid kitten inside her closet; a bouquet of flowers on her studio floor, twined in cotton candy pink ribbon, a little card attached reminding her to smile whilst he was away on a heist.

“Harley..” He growled from the shadows of her studio, upper lip snarling, had still grabbing the door handle. “Harley Quinn.” He walked forward, eyes fixated on her bitten lips, a rough laughter erupting from the back of his throat. “Y’know..” He purred, slapping his hands against her shoulders. “I thought I was being very.. cosmopolitan, allowing you the pleasure of dancing for other men’s enjoyment. I believe that a lady should have the same rights as her male counterpart.” He addressed the rest of the room with a sly smirk, looking around at their horrified, terrified faces. “And although I may play the fool, I am anything but.” His eyes gleamed manically, teeth bared in an awful grin, fingers twitching for the feel of his gun. 

“Puddin’...” She tried desperately, knowing how impossible it was to calm him down when he was like these, rearing for torture, for murder, to hurt and break. He pressed a finger to her lips, watching their reflection from the mirror in front of them, her stood in front of him, dishevelled, a tattooed finger silencing her. He looked taller when she abandoned the heels for pointe shoes, his eyes were dark and shining, and there were a few specks of blood on his cheeks, startlingly scarlet against the sickly pale of his skin.

“Dancing is for whores, Harley girl.” He smirked. “And you know that Daddy doesn’t like his little girl acting like a slut for any man in Gotham who can pay for it. You belong to me, and I decide who gets to see you like that.” He removed his finger from her lips as she desperately tried to talk again, his fingers digging into her collarbones.

“It’s just a dance.” Harley managed eventually, sounding weak, but her head was up, and she stared into his eyes in the reflection as an act of defiance. She stood back on her toes, shrugging his hands off of her. “This is my career. This is what you don’t get a say in.” She said firmly. “Because you don’t give two shits about ballet, and you don’t know shit about it.”

His eyes went wide, comical, mocking her quiet rebellion. “I know enough to say that kissing isn’t a frequent part of it.” He growled, a little surprised when she calmed walked over to her water bottle. He stalked after her. “Do not ignore me!” He shouted, growing angrier when she turned around with a smirk on her face.

“I’m not destroying my ego just to pump up yours.” She grinned, taking a drink. The Joker felt humiliated, looking at her - she was everything he’d built her to be, a warrior, a soldier, a fighter, and a beautiful dancer, and now she was stronger than him. “Now..” She pushed him aside, daring, but her touch was gentle. “I have to go get these steps right, so go sit in the corner like a good little boy.” She teased, patting his shoulder, almost surprised when he did what she said with a grumble.

Two hours later he was sat, entranced, watching how graceful her body was when she danced, watching how well the kiss fit the scene they were dancing in. He was quiet, sat amongst water bottles and discarded clothing, so entranced that he didn’t make a noise when she discarded her leggings and just proceeded in the tiny matching shorts that he’d bought her for for their anniversary two weeks ago. He watched her as an outsider, not as a lover, not as anything sexual, but as an appreciation for her art, one of her many talents, the reason for her broken bones and her constant sock wearing. And whilst he may not appreciate sharing her, he took the time to sit and watch her doing what she loved, with the people that could nurture her talent in a way that he could only dream of, and it made him happy to see the joy on her face.

And later that night, when they were together again, he couldn’t find the rage that he’d harboured earlier in the day. His anger had dissolved to appreciation, the appreciation that she wasn’t expecting when he swept her off her feet and carried her to the bath that he’d ordered the goons to draw whilst he’d been driving her home. She’d expected brutal words and blood where she’d been given foot rubs and excited talks of coming to see the show on the opening night, coming to watch his baby, his Harley girl dancing as prima for the first time, of buying her new pointe shoes, a new practise outfit, something lighter and easier for her. 

Harley smiled as she settled against her lover’s chest in that bath. Sometimes, the Joker’s surprises went better than she expected.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Courtney for bullying me into writing this! 
> 
> I know the Joker is a little weirdly submissive but I didn't want to write him hurting Harley, so I had him respond to Harley's defiance with shock instead of anger. Leave kudos and a comment if you enjoyed, and also any suggestions if there's anything you want me to write!


End file.
